


Two crème puffs and a can of coke

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Beginnings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 15:29:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10879689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: It's a hot day and as they wait for Oikawa and Iwaizumi to turn up for practise, Takahiro watches his friend and wishes he ... or maybe they ... were elsewhere.





	Two crème puffs and a can of coke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tookumade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/gifts).



> Happy Belated Birthday, SAAAAAAAN. 
> 
> This is a bit daft, but hope you enjoy it.

The can of coke in Matsukawa’s hand had a drip of condensation slipping from the lip. It was a warm day, the warmest so far for the year, the sort of day that could fool you it was summer and thus ice cold drinks were needed by rote. It was the sort of day, where you’d welcome the biting effervescence, glory in the chill curling around your gut, before the temperature turned and you’d regret all life decisions and clamour for hot chocolate.

And crème puffs.

Maybe.

 _Crème puffs,_ thought Takahiro, _in this weather are never a good idea._

In weather like this, he’d need to be inside with air conditioning up high to stop the cream liquefying and the chocolate sliding onto his fingers. And he’d like silence while he enjoyed his pastry, not the constant chatter of companions demanding to know why he never tried anything different.

 

_“You’ll end up looking like a crème puff, Makki-chan.”_

_“He’s already wearing most of it.”_

He’d resisted the urge to throw his sodden napkin at Iwaizumi; instead he’d taken longer to savour his food, watching when Mattsun’s smirk elongated to something warmer as he’d handed over his spare serviette.

 

Matsukawa took a sip of his coke, his hand steady, casual, eyes half closed as he swallowed. And then, perhaps realising he was the subject of scrutiny (but looking supremely unconcerned at the observation) he stretched out his arm. “Want some?” he offered.

Takahiro shook his head. His throat was dry, but somehow he didn’t think swigging down even a gallon of coke would stop the rasp.

Matsukawa nodded, then resumed his people-watching and Takahiro turned his face away to stare dead ahead at the subject of his observation.

Two boys, their own age, walking out onto the court. Two boys, their own age, arguing.  Arguing kind of implied it was a two sided thing, though, whereas this, to all intents and purposes was one boy, pink with rage, and another seemingly bored.

“IT’S YOUR FAULT WE’RE LATE, NOT MINE!”

“I can’t _help_ it if I have fans, Iwa-chan, and as they are kind enough to come and see me, it wouldn’t be polite in the _slightest_ to ignore them,” Oikawa said, his tone implying an overwhelming amount of patience had been used in order to reply.

“You didn’t have to hang around for _half an hour_! Not when you knew we had to be here!”

“ _You_ didn’t need to try and drag me away before I’d even said hello.”

 “You just get off on the fucking attention!”

“And you’re just jealous because they don’t know who you are.”

“YOU THINK I WANT THAT KIND OF –” Incandescent Iwaizumi picked up a volleyball and began to bounce it on the floor, the sound reverberating around the gym as he slammed out some of his anger.

“It’s nice to be nice, Iwa-chan. My grandma told me that.”

“It’s also nice to be on time. It’s nice to not let your friends down and keep them waiting. It’s nice not to –”

There were times Takahiro wondered how Oikawa stayed calm under the volley of abuse. Other times he wondered how Iwaizumi (or anyone, really) managed not to resort to murder, so infuriating was Oikawa’s condescension when he never snapped back.

“Why are they friends?”  Takahiro asked, listening as the bickering became a list of all Oikawa’s faults as perceived by Iwaizumi.

It was a conversation they had periodically, more often when the on court pair could hear them. Then Matsukawa would begin with a slow whistle and pull his brows into a concertina frown, before he snapped and snarled out a question. Picking up the cue, Takahiro would run his fingers through his hair and trill out an effortless laugh. It would cause the other pair to stop, to unite in their ‘ha ha very funny’ and ‘we’re not at all like that!’ condemnation before laughing and resuming practise.

Sometimes Takahiro wondered what would happen to Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime if it weren’t for him and Matsukawa. He thought about them having a spectacular bust up, and a whole ream of plots and subplots ran through his mind as fancies enveloped him. Would it come to blows? Would someone have to call an ambulance or the police? Would Oikawa still be as attractive with his nose permanently spread across his face?

What would happen to the team was a more pertinent worry. That was the concern he voiced on occasions to Matsukawa. The other (unvoiced) was that then the four would split. It wouldn’t be a matter of taking sides, he realised, but a four way smash, each one ricocheting to their respective corners, to lick wounds and battle scars.

Maybe Mattsun would carry out his tease and actually join the basketball team.

If the team imploded, Takahiro knew he’d lose out on a lot more than volleyball.

“Maybe they’re not.”

“Huh?” Takahiro flicked his attention back to Matsukawa, noticing the faint brown froth on his upper lip, swiftly remedied as he licked it off, before wiping his mouth on his hand.

Oikawa continued his warm up, unbothered and unflappable.

“Friends,” Matsukawa supplied. “Perhaps it’s all just a ruse.”

“Ruse? Why?”

Matsukawa leant towards him, propping his arms on his knees to whisper with a conspiratorial air, “It’s like this. What if Oikawa Tooru is actually an alien? This could be his attempt to drag us all to the mother ship –”

Catching the ball Iwaizumi’s wayward bounce had sent his way, Tooru strode to the corner, spinning it between his fingers.

“But he’s thwarted by Supreme Earth Guardian Iwa-chan,” Takahiro put in and nodded sagely. “I like your thinking, Matsukawa-sensei.”

And he did. It was always fun and light and warm when Matsukawa began his banter. There was a lilt of a laugh in his words, one that brightened Takahiro’s life and made him think that everything would be cool now.

And he buried the knowledge that jokes and teasing were easy to deal with, easy to deflect anything that might go deeper.

“Give that back!” Iwaizumi ordered.

“Jeez, Mom!” Oikawa rolled his eyes – exaggerated and with a smirking sort of pout – before turning away.

“You spent so _fucking_ long tying your laces that we lost even more time but you are not skimping on the warm up, you fucking asswipe!”

“I AM FINE!” Oikawa yelled back, dodging Iwaizumi as he tried to snatch the ball back.

“DON’T COME CRYING TO ME –” He looked round, gesticulating wildly. “OR THOSE GUYS WHEN YOU BUST YOUR FUCKING KNEE AGAIN!”

They squared each other, Iwaizumi’s glower palpable, Oikawa’s knuckles tightening as he clenched hold of the ball.

“He loves him really,” Takahiro sighed and got to his feet. “Shall we join them before they come to blows?”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S TENSE, IWA-CHAN! DON’T YOU AGREE, MAKKI?”

“AND MATTSUN AGREES WITH ME THAT HAVING YOU WHINE ABOUT MISSING A GAME IS WORSE THAN –”

Fingers grazed against Takahiro’s arm, cold from having grasped an ice cold can of coke, slightly damp from condensation, tightening a touch around Takahiro’s warmer hand.

Pulling him down.

 “How about we sit this round out and let them work it through?” Matsukawa murmured.

“And if the fight continues?”

“It’s their way of communication,” he replied, draining the coke in a last gulp. “But it doesn’t have to be ours.”

“Mattsun?  Makki?  Are you ready?”

 _Are we?_ Takahiro didn’t move. Beside him, Matsukawa pushed back his hair. Readying himself for the part, perhaps.

“Oi – you joining us?” Iwaizumi demanded, brows furrowing. “We’re here now - no thanks to Asskawa.”

“Don’t start,” Oikawa snapped.

Matsukawa smirked. Lobbing his can into the bin, he got to his feet, arms akimbo and studied them. “You know what, I don’t think we are.”

“HUH?”

“We’ve practised,” Matsukawa explained. “And we’re hungry. So now, we’re heading for a cafe.” He grinned and Takahiro’s heart did an odd flip inside his chest. “Crème puff’s for two, I think.”

“Two?” Needing no urging Takahiro scrambled to his feet.

“Yeah.” Matsukawa replied, still smiling. “‘Bout time I worked out why you like them so much.”


End file.
